The following is a short story which I hope will offer light-hearted and accessible insight into my research. I hope you enjoy it!
Mr Grey was an old man. He didn’t like to admit he was old, but the signs were becoming increasingly obvious. Difficulty rising from his easy chair. No longer being able to lift his arm up to comb his hair in the morning. It was all becoming a little unnerving.
Whenever his mind began to dwell on these issues, they were of course promptly attributed to his ‘dodgy knee’ and the shoulder dislocation he had suffered as a young boy during a particularly harrowing game of rugby. But there was no denying the fact that he was ageing.
Mrs Grey spent her days pretending not to notice her husband’s increasingly rapid decline. No use in upsetting the man, she reasoned. After all, he was still managing well enough.
This morning, however, was presenting a bit more of a challenge than usual. Mrs Grey had woken up that day and was pottering around the bedroom, pretending not to notice out of the corner of her eye that her husband was struggling to get out of bed.
He would shoo her away if she offered any help, so she stayed in close proximity and busied herself re-folding the silk scarves in her dresser.
Mr Grey was leaning back and using all his force to swing his trunk forward in an attempt to generate enough momentum to stand up. It wasn’t working. The harder he tried, the more exhausted he became to no avail, until eventually, with one final lurch, he overshot the whole thing and landed squarely on the floor.
The crack was audible even before he hit the polished hardwood, and it was followed by a loud wail that pierced Mrs Grey’s ear drums and heart. It was all she could do to hold back her own sobs as she rushed to the landline to ring for an ambulance.
Mr Grey was inconsolable. The last time he had fallen over was a couple of months earlier at the corner shop. The carton of eggs he had been carrying quickly created a Jackson Pollock-esque artwork in aisle 2, but he had otherwise been fine. Of course, he had dismissed the incident, citing a lapse in judgement as the cause. He had recently and uncharacteristically veered away from his usual preference for quality, orthopaedic footwear, towards a more affordable but decidedly less stable pair of shoes. He hadn’t been able to resist the affordability at the time, and that decision had proven costly. Those shoes were certainly to blame for that incident. But now there was no spin he could put on this fall that didn’t sound ridiculous even to his own ears. There was no denying it. He needed help.
He sat on the bedroom floor, eyes glazed over, pondering all this as he and Mrs Grey waited for the ambulance. Of course, simply waiting was not what Mrs Grey was doing. She was in a frenzy. She couldn’t very well lift him off the floor, so instead, she rushed about looking for a cushion to keep him comfortable, fussed over him, brought a glass of water to keep him hydrated, rummaged around for a blanket to keep him warm… But Mr Grey didn’t notice any of it. He was lost in his own world, realisation dawning on him that his life was about to change… and not for the better.
At the hospital, the clinicians worked efficiently. After an X-ray, they established he had fractured his ankle and would need a cast fit, followed by several weeks’ recovery at home. Mr Grey was in a huff. He couldn’t think of anything worse than spending weeks on end unable to walk properly and most likely stuck inside with nothing to do.
It didn’t really matter. Painkillers, rest and rehabilitation was what the doctor was ordering and he’d have to give in, but not before making his displeasure universally known. The well seasoned clinicians barely batted an eyelid. They were used to disgruntled elderly individuals displaying disdain for their treatment plan. This was routine for them, so they knew to put on their best empathetic face, nod and tut in agreement and understanding, then direct their appeals to Mrs Grey, who would soon straighten out the issue for them.
Sure enough, within 15 minutes, Mr Grey was relatively appeased and on-side and the orthopaedic technician was called in to fit the cast. All in a day’s work, thought the technician Larry Monaghan. In fact, Mr Grey’s passion could actually prove to be advantageous. If he wanted to avoid idleness, maybe he wouldn’t mind being enrolled in a new clinical study they were running. He would be the perfect candidate: above the age of 60, with an ankle fracture in only one leg, and otherwise in good health. He’d be sure to mention their newest patient to the clinician running the study: physiotherapist and PhD student, Kerry Walters.
Once Mr Grey had been administered pain killers and the cast was on, he was asked to wait a while before being discharged, at which point Kerry was deployed. She had a sunny disposition – perpetually smiley, but always running around as if she was five minutes late for every meeting, probably because she was. She was busier than most on her least busy day and always had double the amount of work to do than time would permit. That meant she never really had the time to breathe at work, let alone to inhale her lunch. Nevertheless, she was brilliant with her patients and was one of the favourites among the geriatric population at hospital.
When Kerry burst into the clinical room where Mr Grey was sitting in a wheelchair, arms crossed and face frowned, she could immediately tell that she had her work cut out for her. Mrs Grey, who was seated in an armchair beside her husband, looked up at Kerry in alarm.
“Mrs Grey!” Kerry began, taking Mrs Grey’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Mr Grey!” she continued thrusting her hand out to the irritated elderly gentleman in the wheelchair. “What a pleasure it is to meet you! The circumstances are unfortunate, I will concede, but really we have quite the opportunity here. Mr Monaghan spoke to me a few minutes ago and recommended that I discuss a study we are running with you. We think you would be the perfect candidate. What do you think? It will involve a little effort, mind you, but the beauty of this study is that there is a very good chance of our training helping to improve your recovery.”
Mr Grey glared at her, and Kerry could feel the smile she had plastered on her face begin to falter. Mrs Grey blinked a couple of times, then asked, “I’m sorry darling, but who might you be?”
“Oh dear, I’m getting ahead of myself, I apologise. My name is Kerry Walters. I’m your physiotherapist and I’ll be working with you on your recovery, Mr Grey. We have a standard protocol that we normally follow to get you back up and running so to speak,” she said with a glint in her eye. “We can certainly stick to that strategy if you prefer. However, if you’re feeling a little adventurous, we have a new protocol we’re trialling. Essentially, I’m currently doing a doctoral degree, and running research studies is part of the process. Previous studies have shown that if we exercise your uninjured leg while the fractured one is in a cast, it could actually help preserve some of the strength you’d normally lose in your injured leg, but we don’t yet fully understand how or why. That’s what I’m researching, and if you’re willing to give it a go, you could help us with that. What do you say?”
Mr Grey sat quietly for a few seconds, taking it all in. He wasn’t quite convinced, but it could give him something to do during those dreaded upcoming weeks of house arrest. He looked at Mrs Grey who also seemed to be deep in thought. Then, for the first time since Kerry had parachuted in, he spoke.
“What do you think, dear?” he asked turning to his wife.
Mrs Grey was taken aback. Her husband was normally quite decisive and didn’t typically
ask for her opinion. In truth, she had been rather interested in what Kerry was saying,
and thought it could be a good way to keep him occupied. She had assumed he would
shoot the idea down immediately, but now that she had an opening, it wouldn’t do to
squander the opportunity.
“I think it might be fun,” she offered.
“Hmmph,” came the reply.
“OK, maybe not fun,” she tried again, “but certainly less boring than sitting in bed all
day, waiting until you can get out of the house again. Besides, I think you might find it
interesting. You used to love reading about the latest medical advances. Now, you have
the opportunity to be a part of them.”
“Alright,” said Mr Grey turning towards Kerry, frown still firmly fixed on his face, “I guess
I’ve been persuaded.”
“That’s brilliant news!” Kerry exclaimed, “I’ll get the paperwork and talk you through the
protocol. Be back in a jiffy!”
As she left the room, Mr Grey whispered, “She’s quite excitable, isn’t she?”
“Yes… the hopefulness of youth,” Mrs Grey replied nostalgically.
A tree’s worth of questionnaires and a few signatures later, Mr Grey was all set.
The study proved to be quite intensive. That same day, Mr Grey was required to undergo
neuromuscular testing. Kerry stuck something she called a high-density electrode onto
the calf muscle of his uninjured leg. It was a thin piece of plastic-like material, with 64
small, metal circles – the electrodes. Kerry explained that those electrodes would be
used to record the electrical activity that his nerves were sending to his muscles when he
moved. By analysing those signals, she would be able to get an understanding of how
his nervous system was communicating with his muscles. For each trial recording, she
asked him to point his toes down gradually to activate his calf muscle and increase and
decrease his strength in time to a cue he saw on a computer screen. It was a little tricky
to time his foot movement correctly at first, but after a few attempts, it got easier and
was quite fun. He could see his force control gradually getting better and became
invested in the study.
That evening he returned home to rest and recover, with the promise of a taxi being
sent the next day to pick him up and bring him to the hospital for his training session.
Mrs Grey snuck out to the corner shop to buy her husband some chocolates, and when
she popped back in, he enjoyed munching on them (energy for the study, he reasoned)
and making the most of the special treatment.
The next morning and almost every day after that, Mr Grey was required to follow a
strength training regimen in his uninjured leg. It felt a little strange. He wasn’t really a
gym-goer, but here he was all of a sudden, doing leg presses and calf raises. He
gradually began looking forward to his training sessions with Kerry, although he did his
best to hide it. Yes, she was a little high-energy, but it was beginning to rub off on him,
and even Mrs Grey could see the change in her husband. There was a light in his eyes
and the hope that this study would help his recovery kept him going.
Four weeks into his training however, Mr Grey was beginning to lose patience. He’d been
going at it for a while, and was feeling frustrated. Despite all his hard work, there
seemed to be no visible results.
That Wednesday, Kerry could tell he was in a bad mood. If she was being honest, Kerry
herself was also in a bad mood. Wednesdays were her least favourite day of the week.
She was generally already tired after two full days of work and still had a couple more to
go before the weekend. Sensing that Mr Grey’s disappointment was for a different
reason altogether, and that doubts about the effectiveness of the study were beginning
to set in, she decided to broach the subject.
“Mr Grey, is something the matter?” she asked, “It’s just that you don’t seem to be your
usual self.”
Admittedly, his usual self wasn’t exactly the brightest and bubbliest either, but he was
definitely duller than he normally was.
“Hmmph,” came the reply.
Kerry raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for more elaboration.
“Well, I thought this whole thing was supposed to help with my recovery, but I’m still in
a cast and can’t move my ankle.”
Kerry smiled. “Yes, Mr Grey, the hope is that it will help with your recovery, but these
things take time. Besides, the goal was never to get you sprinting around the room in
four weeks. Can I be honest with you?” she asked, expecting no reply and not waiting
long enough to receive one, “You might not even realise that the exercises have helped
when the six weeks’ training are over. The reality is that you only know what your own
recovery looks like. It’s when we compare it to that of others who haven’t undergone the
same training schedule that we can assess whether it has indeed made a difference.”
Mr Grey didn’t look convinced. He wasn’t sure the effort was worth it, but neither was he
a quitter. Once he’d got this far into the study, he would make sure he finished it. For
the remaining couple of weeks, he continued to show up, and did his exercises with
Kerry without the characteristic grumbling she had become accustomed to.
The day after his final training session, Mrs Grey accompanied Mr Grey to hospital for the
removal of his cast and the final testing session. Once his leg was cut free, Kerry again
pulled out the high-density electrodes. She stuck them onto both his calves this time and
got him to complete the testing they had done on the first day with both his feet.
It was quite strange at first. Mr Grey had become so accustomed to his injured leg being
immobilised, that his force control seemed to be lacking.
“Remember Mr Grey,” ventured Kerry upon seeing the frown that appeared on his face,
“we won’t know what the results look like until we compile data from many participants.”
Mr Grey nodded in understanding and continued to do his best.
“How does the leg feel?” Kerry enquired.
“Weak,” was Mr Grey’s terse reply, “but I guess that’s to be expected.”
“Absolutely,” replied Kerry. “Don’t you worry, now the cast is off, your rehabilitation
programme will also include some strength training for the ankle you injured. You’ll soon
be back to normal, you’ll see.”
For what was probably the first time, Mr Grey gave Kerry a small smile, and thought to
himself that although he was no longer a spring chicken, he potentially had a few
additional good years ahead. Perhaps he had been a little too quick to sign himself off
the day he fractured his ankle. Maybe once he gained some strength back in his bad leg,
and accepted that walking stick Mrs Grey kept insisting he use, he could get by. For the
first time in a long time, he was optimistic.
That evening, he and Mrs Grey sat on the sofa watching the news. They tuned in to BBC
News at Six – there was no way they would be up long enough for the 10pm showing.
In between headlines, Mr Grey suddenly said, “You know, I’m looking forward to that
wine and cheese night Kerry was talking about.”
Mrs Grey smiled. After testing was completed, Kerry had mentioned there would be an
event in a few months’ time where all the study participants would be invited back to
hear the results. They would get the opportunity to meet one another and ask questions.
Mrs Grey had only just managed to hold back a snort while imagining a group of elderly
men and women all talking about how they had each fractured their ankles. That would
be an amusing evening. She was sure their spouses would all have some interesting
stories to share too.
“I don’t normally enjoy these things,” continued Mr Grey, “but maybe just this once, it
would be good to see what all the others thought about it and what their recovery’s been
like.”
“What have you thought about it so far?” asked Mrs Grey after the next bit of breaking
news.
“I’m not sure…” trailed off Mr Grey. “On the one hand, I don’t know if there’s been any
actual improvement in my fractured leg, but on the other, it was good to finally be a part
of the sort of medical research I’ve always been interested in. It was good to be a part of
something bigger than me, you know?”
“That’s lovely to hear dear,” Mrs Grey replied. She was happy her husband had had a
good experience overall – he certainly seemed in better spirits of late. But if she was
being completely honest, and Mrs Grey considered herself a very honest woman indeed,
for her part, she was just relieved she hadn’t had to keep Mr Grey occupied the entire
six weeks. That would have been near impossible, she thought, smiling to herself and
settling into her seat for the rest of the evening news.
As she and Mr Grey nursed their hot mugs of tea, an advert for Zimmer frames suddenly
began to air. Mrs Grey stifled a laugh as she glanced sideways just in time to see Mr
Grey’s scowl reinstated.
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